“If you want cake, we can order cake,” JJ says while Tate moves to my other side and takes my hand in his. JJ stares at us for several seconds and then shrugs and takes the lead. Silas walks behind us, and I can feel his eyes boring into me.
The guys cheerfully recap the audition as we walk back to the suite—all but Silas. When we get inside, Tate grabs my arm and spins me around. I automatically move my hips the way Angela showed me, and Tate’s gaze drifts down.
His eyes bore into me, and he grabs my hands and pulls so I trip into his chest with a soft gasp.
“Did I hurt you?” Tate asks, and I shake my head against his chest. The scent of him fills my nostrils, and I inhale deeply.
“My turn,” Charles says, taking Tate’s place and pulling me into his arms. With one hand, he takes out his smartphone and uses it to activate the suite’s sound system. Triumphant orchestral music choruses through the air.
I’m instantly transported to a ballroom where Charles is the Beast and I’m his princess. Except a second later, the music changes to a fast beat.
Charles stops mid-step, his lips turned down beneath his beard. We both look around, and Tate holds up his phone and smirks at Charles.
Then I notice a dark figure to our right. Silas, leaning against the back of the couch, scowling at the room at large... and then at me. I gulp.
His eyes are narrowed, his lips turned down, and I can’t take my eyes off his snake bite piercings as I dance with Charles. They give Silas the look of a fanged werewolf, poised and ready to rip my throat out at any moment.
Nervously, I mentally focus my attention on the spot above my collarbone, where Mom’s necklace used to be. Except it’s still in pieces on JJ’s nightstand.
I glance back at Silas. I should say something, remind him that they passed the audition and he has no reason to scowl. But my throat dries up, and I can’t get the words out. They’re like grains of sand falling between the fingers of a clenched fist. Some songwriter I am. I have nothing to say when I need words the most.
“Let’s not let success get to our heads,” Silas says pointedly. “For all we know, Roonie’s song was a fluke.”
“C’mon, Silas,” Tate groans. “Don’t be like that.”
Silas shrugs. “I’m just saying, I want to win. Not get distracted.”
“We can afford to celebrate our victories, as long as we keep working hard.” Charles says, all seriousness. “I believe it was Aristotle who said—”
“I don’t care about fucking Aristotle,” Silas mutters. “I care about a cappella.”
“We all care about a cappella,” Tate says. “That’s why we’re here, remember?”
“And we deserve to celebrate,” JJ adds, pulling me away from Charles and into a spin.
His warm hands and gentle grip guide me in circles around the cozy space, but I can’t enjoy it. Not when I’m remembering our kiss and the way I betrayed Charles and Tate.
I pull away from JJ, and he instantly lets go. He watches me for a second and then winks and gives my hair a tug. “Food should be here any minute now.”
Soon, delivery people start to arrive. There’s someone from Pizza al Volo, Chez Caviar, a burger joint, and a bakery. We eat a little bit of everything, and when we’re done, JJ gets to his feet. “How about some Champagne to celebrate?”
My whole body tenses. Of course they’re going to drink Champagne. This is college. Everyone drinks.
I remind myself once more that not everyone gets drunk and takes it as far as Father, but I can’t calm myself.
I look up and catch Charles watching me. Would he ever drink enough to lose control? I haven’t been afraid of his beastly size since we met, even after I caught him reading those awful fairy tales by Grimm, but the thought of him drinking makes me grow cold with worry. Would Tate, my Prince Charming, drink too? Would he stumble across the apartment in a drunken daze, the way JJ had the night we met?
“We’re not going to get drunk. Promise,” JJ calls from the kitchen, as if reading my mind. “I never meant to scare you that first night, but you know me so much better now, Roonie. You know I’d never hurt you.”
“I—” I can’t quite get the words out, so I nod.
“We’ll only have one glass each,” JJ adds resolutely. “A toast to LUV the Beat.”
“LUV the Beat?” I whisper, eyeing the bottle in his hand.
“Our a cappella group name,” Tate says. “Do you like it?”
“Say you like it,” JJ calls. “Tate came up with it.”
“We had to put our name down when we got through the audition.” Tate looks sheepish. “We’ve been so busy rehearsing, we never came up with a name. So I wrote down the first thing I could think of.”
“I like it,” I tell him honestly, but then I’m distracted by the sound of a popping cork.
JJ holds up the bottle of Champagne and splashes some of the bubbly liquid into a glass while crossing the living room. “Thank you for saving us with that audition song, Roonie,” he says, handing it out to me.
It’s not beer, but the smell is still a punch to the face. I try my hardest not to visibly gag, but I can’t, not when it makes me think of Father.
“I’m nineteen,” I sputter, without thinking. I’m not old enough to drink. Mind you... I don’t think Tate and Charles and JJ are either.
“And I’m twenty-one only on certain ID cards.” Tate grins and takes his own glass from JJ.
Charles keeps watching me, his midnight black eyes glimmering with concern. Silas watches me, too, but his gaze is cold. Terrifying in this room where there are drinks and stark reminders of Father.
“Roonie?” Charles moves to my side and takes the glass of Champagne from my shaking fingers. “Would you like me to get you something else?”
“Not all of us are snooty and prefer a snifter of brandy as we sit by the fire like old men in a Dickens novel.” Tate tells him.
Before I know it, my Prince Charming takes my hand and guides me to the couch. Then he pulls me down so I’m sitting next to him.
Charles immediately takes a seat on my other side, still holding my glass in his hand. In that deep, dark voice of his, he asks, “Are you all right, Roonie?”
“I’m going to need something stronger if I have to stare at you three all night,” Silas snaps, his gaze traveling from me to Charles to Tate and back again.
I freeze, not because of the angry look he shoots our way, but because he plans to drink something stronger. And because no one plans to stop him.
“Suit yourself.” JJ sets down the bottle of Champagne, picks up a glass of the bubbly liquid, and crosses the living room to join us.
Tate and Charles still haven’t taken a sip of their Champagne, and I tense when realization hits. The moment we all clink glasses, they’re going to drink. And they’re going to change.
I try to remind myself that they’re not Father, but it doesn’t work. My stomach lurches. My senses are overwhelmed by the phantom smells of alcohol, sweat, and grunge. Father’s voice as he yells at me. That bulging vein on his forehead when he’s so angry he’s about to strike. Swaying on his feet, his hand raised right before...